The Arrest
by Oldwickedsongs
Summary: A young policeman makes his first collar, and don't you always remember your first.


**Author's Note: **One of the first Les Mis plot bunnies I've had. Attempts were made to be canon, as well as to be considered in character for all parties involved. Hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,

That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."

-Midsummer's Night Dream

**The Arrest**

**By: Lady Erised**

It was somewhere between the sharp crack in his skull and the blinding explosion of brilliant white light seared into his eyelids that Javert decided perhaps a career in law enforcement wasn't the wise choice he'd made. He also decided that consciousness wasn't all it was made out to be. Slowly, he pushed up from the soft dirt and spat out the taste of rotting leaves and mud. And then, moving so not to harass anything that was hurting in his body, he unceremoniously slumped against the nearest tree. Right, first things first, where was he?

In the forest.

Right. What was he doing there?  
Chasing a convict.

Right. Why?

Because those were his orders.

Javert laughed and gingerly felt the back of his head. He shut his eyes for a moment as he tried to reasoned: the moisture he felt was not blood in fact, but rather water, dew perhaps. It was by far more comforting then blood on his hands. He laughed again.

Not a prison guard for two days and he's already bleeding. Javert winced. This was no way to start a career. Still, part of his mind defended (the same part cursing him out for becoming a guard) this wasn't his fault. He'd gotten as far as reported in when the warden had immediately dispatched him and six other guards to recapture an escape convict.

Oh right. The convict. He was out here too.

More on instinct then fear, Javert pushed to his feet. This job required too much pushing to be healthy, he thought idly as he braced himself against the trunk of the tree. Fighting off vertigo and nausea, Javert tried vainly to remember the situation.

They'd split up, because that was always a good idea. The oldest of the guards- Cambon, had sneered at Javert and his shiny boots, and then paired him with Houis, (the rookie, till Javert had arrived). Within minutes, it seemed, they'd be separated. So now, Javert rested against his tree, trying desperately to remember his training however nil it might have been. Sliding his hand down, he felt down to his side and the pistol that was not there.

It couldn't have become dislodged in his fall. How did he fall?

Yes, he was new and yes he was shaking but somehow even in his vanity he could not see himself being clumsy. Well, clumsy perhaps but not stupid. Javert knew his duty and he kept it: all the trappings his office included.

There was a snap and rustle not far from his left ear that made him stop cold.

There was a curse followed by a swift flurry of action. The noise turned, hearing something that Javert had not. There was another quick turn back towards Javert. Evening was creeping slowly across the forest, and this far from the outskirts; it was already nearly pitch. He couldn't see the person. They couldn't see him either.

Be reasonable, he told himself. It could be another guard.

He heard the pistol cock. Followed in suit with another gun.

Or not.

Javert flattened himself against the tree. Breath. Stop shaking. You've hidden from people all your life; this is nothing new. Sliding his head with the measured pace Javert hoped would make owls jealous; he turned to glimpse the figure.

In the black, all he could see was the _size_. The convict possessed the blackness, and he did not stand, he loomed. Tall, and wide, the convict slumped forward slightly like a beast. His whole body heaved with each massive intake of air that he took and against reason, Javert was certain the convict had seen him.

Now he was not a superstitious man, not one given much to outlandish and unreasonable stories but there were some things he'd been told as a child that he still believed. One of them was the deep seated belief that creatures that possessed and owned the inky darkness like this creature did had good reason to find solace in such blackness.

The leaves rustled underfoot as the creature pushed forward closer to Javert. His jaw tightened, holding his breath. Javert tried not to look. The convict was watching the darkness for the slightest of movements and with each strained twitch of muscle, made Javert certain he'd been seen.

"I got your friend." The convict drawled. His voice was heavy, steely and unforgiving. "Back farther down the path. He didn't have time to run. I got your friend."

Javert tried not to swallow, nor did he care much to remember how much taller and experienced his partner had been.

"I know you're here." The convict continued. He laughed then, haltingly. Javert could almost see him grinning. The convict swayed his head; one side to another, like a troll sniffing for children's blood.

Enough with the ghost stories…

"I'm not going back!" The beast shouted suddenly slightly manic in delivery, and waved one gun wildly.

"Yes, you are."

Javert moved then, darting from his hide out to another. The leaves rustled loudly in his ears. The convict moved with him, pushing forward but did not fire. Javert could hear him breathing again.

"Who do you think you are?" The convict hissed. "You think you can stop me?"

Javert stopped short of saying he was the law. That sounded trite and arrogant, even to him. That wasn't true. He wasn't the law. It was bigger then himself. That's why he had devoted himself to it. Javert felt his shivering ease up as his mind traveled something secure. He shut his eyes and kept focused on the truth.

The law was on his side. That's what he needed.

It was something that could not be taken away, could not be bartered away or smeared with the fallacies of human nature. It was above Roma, French, everything. That's what separated him and this boogeyman. It's what made him safe. It's what made him stronger, despite the facts of nature, despite the fact that this convict was tougher and older then Javert and had been in coarser brawls then he had ever remembered.

He knew he would make it. He had too.

Javert moved without thought. Coming out of the darkness, he slammed his shoulder into the convict's side. The beast did not so much as falter but turned and swung at Javert. He tumbled back, rebounding and slamming his shoulder against his side once more. This time, the convict stepped back.

And Fate, it seemed, took pity on the rookie Prison guard for the convict stepped straight back onto a fallen timber. One pistol went off, and the shot went wild, pass Javert's ear as the massive beast fell backwards shooting one leg out to brace himself while Javert threw himself opposite, bracing for the rebuttal.

Javert felt the blood drain from his face as he stared in mute horror at the convict's actions. He watched in terrible awe as the convict turned, and squatted. Without effort or sound, he picked up the tree and threw the log straight towards him. Yes, a policeman's job was not a safe one.

But this was getting ridiculous.

How strong could one man _be_?

The falling tree caught Javert's leg, making him cry out in alarm. Javert squatted in the underbrush, rubbing his injured ankle. His mind was working hurriedly. Javert paused only for a moment, realizing the convict had taken a bound towards where he crouched and had paused. For a time, the convict was staring into the darkness, waiting.

For what?

Javert's mind reasoned and then dismissed the thought that perhaps the convict had thought to render aide to his fellow man but hesitated, realizing his fellow man was also his jailer. Still, Javert took advantage of the situation in one wild desperate action.

His hands grabbed the nearest branch from the fallen tree and pulled it free. Steeling himself against the pain in his foot, Javert swung wildly in the blackness, aiming for what he hoped was the convict's gut. Score two, for Fate and her pity; the swing met its mark.

The convict doubled over and Javert swung again. Branch met back and down the convict went. Javert was panting frantically, slumping over from exhaustion and now, spent with terror. He heard voices off in the distance, just as the beast beneath him stirred.

Please…

Please…let that be the other guards.

The convict moved again, pushing himself slowly from the ground. Javert stepped back, swallowing down the tears of desperation, and readied himself for another onslaught. The prisoner turned his head up and in a small infinity, their eyes met.

The convict was terrified.

It made Javert stumble.

"Don't move or we'll shoot!" Barked a rough voice from the distance. Javert kept his gaze settled on the man's feral eyes for an instant longer before pulling away and looking up. "Put the damn gun away, Cambon! It's me."

A group of guards tumbled through the woods, bringing light and security with them. Cambon who had glared at him when he had first been presented, who had taken one look at the rookie and shrugged him off; insulted that such a whelp be entrusted to his care was running towards them and slowed to a measured gait as he stared bewilderedly at Javert and the prisoner.

His old, round face drew long as he gaped for a several seconds before screwing up into a sort of manic laughter. Coming up beside him was Houis, the one Javert had been assigned to as partner, had stopped and was nursing a cloth to his forehead. He looked concerned but unharmed.

Javert ventured a glance back down to the convict as if to ask, I thought you said you got him.

The expression on the prisoner's face seemed to answer, I'm a prisoner; I lied.

"Well, I'll be skinned and tanned." Cambon had finally found his voice again. He turned to Houis and slapped him on the back. The younger man stumbled under Cambon's massive paw. "Not a copper for a week, and already Javert's made his first collar. Look at him, little hero standing there."

Houis nodded, and tossed Javert a pair of handcuffs. "Secure the prisoner, hero."

Javert kneeled down and looked again at the convict. He took care not to meet his eyes. "This is for your safety, and mine. Understand."

The convict jutted his hands in front of him and grunted. Javert took him and helped the convict up. He had begun to stare darkly at the ground. Javert glanced at him, disbelievingly, half-expecting the prisoner to rear up at any moment to try and escape again.

"Well now, let's get you back home, eh old friend?" Cambon barked darkly, this time towards the convict.

The convict stepped behind Javert. If Javert noticed at all, he gave no sign of it. He met Cambon's eyes evenly. "My collar. My responsibility."

"No one's going to take your credit, hero."

"Respectfully, sir. Those are the rules. I'm to escort the prisoner back."

"Listen, rookie." Cambon said, the mirth gone from his eyes and voice. "I getcha. You're all proud you've tagged him, well fine. But you don't know him like I do. He's twice your size and three times as vicious. Give em over."

"No sir."

Houis smirked and stepped forward. "I'll ride in the coach with him, sir. If he tries anything, I'll make sure the gun slips."

This seemed to appease Cambon. He grunted and turned away, leading the way back to the coaches to take them back to Toulon.

* * *

Later, crammed into the carriage with Houis sitting across from Javert and the prisoner; Javert realized he had finally stopped shaking. In the safety of the coach, without the excitement and craziness of the world outside, even the prisoner had fallen into a deep slumber and begun to slump against Javert. He turned and watching the sleeping form without much thought as he pushed himself against the other side of the coach, mindful once against of the prisoner's massive size.

Houis laughed idly as he watched Javert's expression when the prisoner had found solace with his head on Javert's lap. "Don't think too much of it, Javert. This one's always been a little tender. Cried his first night at Toulon, and keeps to himself mostly." Houis slouched a little, pushing his hat over his eyes. "Not nearly as much of the monster Cambon likes to think of him." There was a pause. "Not yet anyways."

"Has he ever tried to escape before?"

"No, kind of surprised me."

"What was his crime?"

Houis made a sleepy sound. "He was some minor poacher, I think. Nothing serious."

"Serious enough for Toulon."

"He stole a little here and there." One eye peered from beneath the rim of his hat. "You ask a lot of questions."

"He scared me." Javert said simply. "I make it my business to understand things that can scare me." He looked down at the convict's grimy profile, ragged hair and filthy uniform. "What was his name?"

"Prisoners do not have names, Javert."

"His designation then."

There was a long pause that made Javert think for a moment that Houis had fallen asleep. He looked up at his partner then back to the prisoner before opening his mouth to speak again. Then, another sound of sleepy laughter greeted him from across the carriage.

"24601."

Javert nodded idly. He let Houis drift to sleep after that, glancing once more at the prisoner in his care. Javert shifted under the man, positioning himself to more a comfortable situation for the both of them. Then, he shut his eyes and slept.


End file.
